Tell-tale
by silently-at-night
Summary: The human brain hides many shadows. When one of those shadows comes to the surface, Ron fears that he may be learning to love her when it's too late. pre-Romione.


_**Disclaimer:** sadly, this wonderful universe is not mine._

 _ **QLFC, round 11: I open at the close.**_

 _Team: Chudley Cannons_

 _Position: Seeker_

 _Prompt: "Can't you just, I don't know, crawl into an Acromantula nest and live there for the rest of your short, pitiful life?" Plus, the story must start and finish with the same word._

 _Words (without A/N): 1369_

 _ **Many special thanks to Ned (isaacswolfsbane) for being such a precious and helpful beta-reader!**_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

As forms took shape in front of his eyes, Ron found himself still wearing those ghastly robes he had been forced to put on for the Yule Ball.

He was in his dormitory, alone and uncomfortable; he could feel something constricting his stomach like hands around a throat as well as uncontrollable itching due to those horrible clothes. He really couldn't stand them, for he was sure they would be the death of him.

Stamping his feet angrily, he paced around the room trying to get himself free from those hateful dress robes. Behind him, he left a long trail of shoes, socks, laces and cuffs. As soon as he managed to pull a piece off, he let it fall, too annoyed and tired to keep track of them all. He would collect them in the morning... Maybe. Maybe not. He didn't think they deserved to be picked up, anyway.

Ron cursed once, twice, three times; he had gotten his head stuck in the so-called dress robes—he was still rather sure it was a dress, though, no matter who told him otherwise. He had totally forgotten about that stupid, tiny collar. After much pushing and pulling, and many incomprehensible sounds later, his blue eyes finally emerged, his forehead red from the repeated rubbing.

Ron panted and groaned. He was darned if he understood what he had done to deserve such an awful day and night.

He shook his head, trying to tame the unruly nest his hair had become, but the sudden movement made him dizzy. He lost balance and hit the wall, sliding to the floor.

And as the sorrow came, so did something else. At the worst moment possible, it descended on him, adding to an already long list of things that had gone wrong, catastrophically so: Krum and Hermione dancing together, the robes with their highly rough fabric, Ginny refusing to wear said ghastly robes—actually his sister's own dress was even more horrible, all pink as it was; they could have never traded.

He remembered everything. He had memories of dating the wrong girl, drinking too much, being assaulted...

And now, this happened; it was disgusting and fearsome. What had he done to deserve a spider dropping on his head, its web and all? He sighed.

Sure, he knew he had often cursed and complained about the day, probably offending who knew what deity, but said deity had gone too far now; even for them that was a low blow.

As the spider started walking across his head, Ron felt all the hairs on his neck stand up. He bit back a moan. It was a hell of a way to end this night.

He felt those eight legs tickling his scalp, and he whimpered, making sounds which were unknown in any language. He was trying to recall which things had gained him such a harsh treatment from the heaven, his fear and anger mixing together.

Ron was sure Hermione was to blame too somehow. That girl could be very scary when she wanted to. She was brilliant, of course, but that only made her even scarier. He would not have been surprised if this was all her doing. Who knew exactly how many spells and jinxes she had mastered? In retrospect, she had reasons to be angry at him; but was it really his fault? _Only_ his fault? Who had always prided herself to be sensitive and empathetic? It was not him, but her. Yet, she hadn't understood him; he was just embarrassed, not trying to hurt her feelings.

He shook his head, but the arachnid didn't fall.

His ideas were so confused. He could feel panic that was about to grip him. What could he do? What would Hermione do? He didn't even have his wand. He spun his head, looking for something to use, and he spotted the trail of clothes. His shoes were beyond reach, but his cuffs were right next to him and so starched that they could hurt somebody. The robes wrapped him up, binding him, but he managed to grab one. Now, the problem was to use it. Holding it, he lifted his hand and slightly tilted his head, squinting a little to help himself to aim...

The spider fell into his lap.

Ron jumped and attempted to toss his robes.

The beast ran towards his bed.

He stared after it, his stomach twisting in fear and his heart racing.

The spider was still moving. It came to a halt when it met a piece of lace, then it turned around, heading towards the door.

It was leaving the room.

The arachnid's eight eyes glanced at the boy in indignation. Judging from its demeanor, Ron was sure that if spiders could talk, it would have screamed, "Can't you just go somewhere—far away from me—and spend the rest of your useless, destructive and hopefully short life there?"

The red-head felt he had more right to speak those words, changing them to the worst threat he could imagine. "Can't _you_ just, I don't know, crawl into an Acromantula nest and live there for the rest of your short, pitiful life?" Although, when he thought better of it, that beast would have had the time of its pathetic excuse for a life in Aragog's nest, and it didn't sound fair.

In the meantime, the little creature had almost made it to the door, and its eight long, disgusting, black legs were the last thing Ron saw of it as they were disappearing behind the corner.

He took a deep breath in, feeling like something good had finally happened. He had gotten rid of that terrifying creature and he had discovered that those robes could serve some purpose after all. Clearly, they smelled too much even for a spider.

As for Hermione, he would make up with her in the morning; no need to worry about it. Yet, all he could think of was her. It was like that spider had planted the thought in his head.

That spider... Could it be possible that it would seek revenge on her? The more that thought lingered in his head, the more it seemed realistic.

Ron suddenly felt suffocated, unnaturally so.

He took a step forward but stumbled over the fabric. He knew he had to get up; he had to catch up with the spider before it hurt his friend.

Ron called for some help, but he could hear nothing, no sounds, no voices... Where was everybody?

The silence was mocking him, yet he felt observed. He could sense somebody's presence.

"Hermione," he called, putting all his concern in it, hoping it would be enough to protect her, even if he couldn't.

"Hermione." He tasted her name on his tongue. Wasn't it the best name in the world? Yet, how many times had he called for her in all this time? How many times had he spoken, written, whispered, mumbled it? He was sorry she was not there to hear him.

He still was unable to get on his feet.

He could see those black legs moving towards the common room, he could hear them ticking on the floor, the sound getting louder and louder, mixing with his own heartbeat.

"Hermione!" His tone was urgent, worried.

He struggled again and again to move.

..ooOOoo..

He woke up. Looking around he saw that he was stuck in a bed and he was... in the Hospital Wing? It took him only few moments to remember drinking some Mead in Slughorn's office. Who knew what...

His thoughts trailed off when he realized that his hand, that he had tried to lift, was securely held by something soft and small: Hermione's hand. She was dozing on a chair beside his bed. He was glad he had not lost her, not to a spider, not to Romilda... not to Lavender. Being careful not to wake her up, Ron made himself more comfortable and closed his eyes again, a sweet smile on his lips.

For the first time in what it seems forever, he felt content.

"Good night, _my_ Hermione," he thought before giving in to sleep, liking those little two letters he had used to refer to his friend as.

* * *

The end

* * *

 _Mysterious things, dreams, aren't they? Review please_ :)


End file.
